


To Build a Bridge

by FalsettoSlumber



Category: Original Work
Genre: Autobiography, Diary/Journal, Metaphors, Multi, Philosophy, Poetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalsettoSlumber/pseuds/FalsettoSlumber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you have no foundations left, how do you build a home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Three strangers stand on the platform, shoes tapping nervously against the hard stone floor. They do not speak; they do not touch. As the sounds of mechanical motion thunder past them into the still of the night, they stand apart from each other. Yet they share a story. The very moment in which they stand; this is a story. Something that can be written into time. 

Every second that passes can be written down, no matter how mundane, how fantastical. 

The girl upon the bench stares across the tracks in front of her, feeling out of place in her too small shorts and overlong cardigan. A bedraggled spectre, as she stares into the unfeeling night. Lost, unattached. She feels as if she is floating away. 

A taxi driver taps his fingers agitatedly against the barriers that bar him from the platform beyond, though they stand open for him, at this time of the night. His client's train is late, and he sighs, wishing that he had turned the metre on before exiting the cab. The night air is cold as it brushes against his bare forearms, and he shivers. 

The football fan toes the edge of the platform absently, staring, unseeing, at the abyss below, the light reflecting off the tracks in a way that looks almost sinister. Cold, unfeeling. Dark. Something one of those weird horror writers would scribble on about. He scoffs, turning from the platform, to stare at the strange girl on the bench. Some weirdoes these days. 

Our story could focus on the cab driver, his journey endless, and most likely interesting. Or it could focus on the cynical football fan, who is now thinking of those train tracks almost obsessively. Thoughts flash through his head that are unwanted, unrealistic. 

But it does not. These three people have merely been caught in a moment, and these two people, mere seconds in the metaphorical hour that is the universe. Somebody may one day write about them. But instead, we shall focus on the girl. Currently, she is sat staring at the material of her woollen cardigan, fascinated in the plaited pattern of the edges. The ends fray, long strands coming loose in her hands as she picks. 

She is ultimately conscious of the way her feet splay upon the cold tarmac in uncomfortably fitting black shoes. The cold spreads through the thin soles, chilling her toes as they steady themselves on the reality of the ground. Something to anchor to. 

The train station feels cold that night. Cold, but still, in a strange way, ethereally beautiful. Each sound around her echoes into the darkness of the distance. The sounds of trains, their windows bright in the darkness of the countryside, somewhere far away. Going somewhere; somewhere beautiful, in somebody's eyes. The sounds of cars, waiting to cross the train tracks, whilst the train barriers stay their journey. Halting them from their goal. Their car a gaol. 

The sounds of the station around her; the fluttering of pigeons' feathers in the eves. The freedom within birds echoes through her own body, as it strains to leap free from its earthbound chains. She blocks the noises of the world from her consciousness, for she feels too much. She feels like crying, laughing, leaping from her seat. Singing louder than the world can hear, quieter than the quietest hummingbird. 

Instead, she sees. She looks, and she sees. She sees the pain reflected in the station; it is not a perfect place. There is graffiti here, marks of somebody's longing to be seen. To exist. There are broken bricks, from where the building no longer wishes to stand. There is imperfection here, and she lowers her head in a strange respect. Respect that only she seems to understand now. Here. In this moment. Only she seems to realise. 

The train comes from around the corner, and she hesitates. This is it. This is going to destroy her thoughts. Dragged back into a reality too harsh to feel, too harsh to wish to ever truly know. The bright headlights of the small, two carriage train draw closer, carrying the reality that she knows so well. A part of her loves it, this anchor, her solid, warm, anchor. But a small part of her longs to leap. To leap to the end, to finally fly. To escape the world that she feels so trapped in. As the train pulls closer, she hesitates. 

Cruelty. It is something that perpetuates her life. The cruelty of unfairness. She sighs, shrinking back into the cold, metal seat for a moment. Just a moment. Before she stands, feeling ungainly upon her legs. Shaking. 

The two men nearby turn to look at her, just for a moment, and she smiles inside. She is noticed. She is not floating away, not yet. She lifts her eyes to the bridge, looming above her almost ghost-like. Its dark, ornate shape fills her vision, and she smiles outside. A familiar shape crosses towards her, the dark silhouette of luggage and clothing becoming more recognisable with the seconds. 

He draws near, for it is apparent that he is indeed, a he. He draws near, sees her. Eyes lighting up almost instantaneously, he closes the distance between them, and he pulls her near, encasing her in her cage of safety. Warm closeness surrounds her, and she lets herself breathe. Lets herself breath in, breathe him. Remembers everything good about the earthbound world. They touch, unlike the other strangers, who seem to have disappeared, to take somebody away, and to take a journey some place. They touch, and peace surrounds them. 

He is warm, whilst she is cold. He is real, whilst she feels unearthly. He is smiles, whilst she is tears. He is an anchor, and she is a bird. She is a bird, trapped inside herself, and he is an anchor. But one day, he shall be her tailwind. Her air to lift her. The sky, the air, the space around her. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was beautiful. That was the only word to describe it. A strange, incandescent, memorable beauty. She is stood upon a low wall, made of an inconspicuous grey stone, balanced perfectly, arms spread wide, like a bird. The girl is tired, today, but that is the same as most days. Despite her lethargy, she can still pinpoint this as a moment. It is raining, a steady haze of strange water vapour that simply hangs in the air, as if it could not decide whether to fall or to hover. 

The courtyard about her is silent, almost, but for the softly falling mist, and the footsteps of him behind her. She leans her head back, slowly, purposefully, and closes her eyes gently, feeling as her eyelashes fall onto her cheeks. Purpose. It dulls her, and electrifies her. Time seems to fall apart around her as she imagines the scene that surrounds her. The soft lighting of the semi-dimmed flood lights; the yellowed sepia brickwork, almost glowing in the twilight. 

Footsteps approach, and she reluctantly opens her eyes, time crashing to reality in a second. The reluctance, the hesitance, disappears almost immediately as she leans back against strength. An iron wall blocking the harsh chill from penetrating the skin of her back. 

Strong hands move across her skin, and he sighs behind her. The girl's skin is soft, warm against his hands and he laughs gently into her hair, soft as silk, that tickles his nose softly as he leans forwards into her. 

Eyes open, she looks ahead; looks to the ageing stone cathedral before her, its architecture projecting grander in every direction across the city, that rests in a dulled slumber below their feet. The girl looks at her hands, clasped neatly between his arms, and it is as though she can feel their consciouses stretching out beneath her, about her. A spider web of thoughts, and worries, and loves and lusts simply waiting to be discovered. 

Her anchor is here, in this beauty. This story is her beauty, and the mundane fascinations she keeps locked in her head, for moments like this. 

“Can I fly away?” She mutters quietly, and his arms close tighter around her, unwilling to let go. She is as a bird, eager to take to the sky, and to disappear; he cannot. He is an anchor, heavy and metallic, unable to grow wings, nor feathers. 


	3. Chapter 3

Voices are whispering all around her, and she stares ahead, stolid and silent, as if forever was merely a word. She is sat upon a roughly hewn bench, the feeling of forgotten pathways and awkward bag straps pressing against her heels painfully. Her own bag is nowhere to be seen, having been thrown on the roof of a building not far from her seat. 

She feels rough beneath the cheap material of her blazer, thick lines pressing against cotton within. They ache, the lines feeling as if they could break free in a second. Break free, and escape into the world. Harsh, cold, and raw. Raw, and aching, as a heart beat. 

"What's wrong?" A false voice sounds, directed towards her, it seems. She looks up, the light filtering through her thick fringe unkindly. A boy stands in front of her, tall, askew. His voice is grit-like, rough as he speaks to her. She shakes her head unwillingly, and he laughs, lurching forwards towards her, to touch her. The girl shrinks away, and he laughs harder, the mocking lilt of his tones filling her ears with echoes. 

"Hey, don't run away." He grabs her left arm forcedly, pulling her towards him. The sharpness of pain, tangible on the edge of her teeth as she cries out, jolts through her as a lightening bolt, and he drops her almost immediately, the sound of her protest loud enough to draw attention from others nearby. 

"Please go away." Teeth grit together, as she staunches the feelings of rising anger. The boy scoffs, rolling his eyes at her. Pushes her back, and walks away. Back into the sea of children around her. She closes her eyes, and stares at her knees. Scabbed over from weeks of picking. Picking at scuffed skin until it bled crimson. Her long skirt hides them when she walks. The girl remains hidden. For now. 

Figures come and go around her, but she stays still, a vigilante in a world where such a thing is unneeded. Shapes blur around her, and the girl closes her eyes. The world stretches out about her, and she longs to see it. Seek it, and know it. But instead, she is stuck here. This world unkind, and unsympathetic to her plight. She sighs, and the world slows down. 

The blurs disappear, and she stands from her seat. Heads towards the towering building in front of her, looking sadly to the roof. A small fabric bag sits there, far out of reach, the pale blue looking indistinct against the pallid sky. Feeling small inside, she holds her arms to her chest as the rush of people floods past her, the bodies pressing against her in an almost too intimate gesture of closeness. 

She leaves the bag behind as she steps inside the building wearily; somebody will find it, a caretaker, or tutor, and they will bring it to her. Until then, she will stay silent. Silent, and aware. 


	4. Chapter 4

Two figures are silhouetted against the night sky, the vague shapes of a town in the distance. Lights rise up from the crest of the hill, and the two silhouettes move together, dancing in an odd scurry of movement across the field. 

The stars are above, bright, and distant. She looks up to them, as they look down to her, and she tugs on the arm of the other. Motions towards the strange, towering construction before them. He nods, following her with his eyes and feet as she moves towards the mass of metal and bolts. Smiles as she almost dances in the night, climbing higher before him. It is as if she is attempting to reach the stars themselves. 

She presses herself against the thick cord of the climbing frame, safety in its strength. She can see cold tarmac below, rough and dark in the light of the darkness. She can feel metal brushing her fingers below as she stretches her fingers out towards the ground. The chilled smoothness feels unnatural beneath the soft pads of her fingertips, too clean, too perfect. 

The girl rolls over onto her back, the rough edges of the rope pressing harshly into her skin. They feel more natural. Roughly hewn, harshly sewn. She smiles at the thought, and closes her eyes momentarily, feeling his weight drop beside her own, with an exclamation whispered beside her. Opening her eyes, she looks to him. Smiles as he takes her hand. Together, they turn their heads skyward, and the night sky opens up before them. 

Stars shine down, and she smiles calmly. Serene. She feels him shivering beside her, and she moves closer, desperate to share her warmth. Warmth of her body, warmth of her heart. Gazing upwards, she finds her eyes tracing patterns in the glowing orbs above; odd, abstract shapes meld together with strangely normal objects. Boots befriend dragons, seated side by side in the space of the darkness. Cats chase spiralling wire frames through the sky, movement seeming real as the clouds move lazily about them. 

They are veils. Veils, parting the girl from the reality of her life. She clenches her eyes shut, and rolls towards him slightly, shifting her weight to one side as she leans onto his chest. An arm is placed around her slowly, surely. Gently. 

He kisses her temple, and she clings closer, her fingers closing around the folds of his single layer. He shivers in the early morning freshness, the cold snapping at his skin vindictively. She pulls him closer, her head resting between his collarbones, and his shaking ceases. For now. 

They are two halves, the sides of a coin, her and him. They are two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, cliched and perfect and imperfect and all the things that the girl sees in between. 


	5. Chapter 5

She is whimpering. Whispering, and floating through something akin to air. Her hair fans around her, soft strands lapping at her face as waves. 

Lacing her hands against the sides of her container, she pushes apart, closing her eyes, and holding her breath. Feels the cold surface of the mock porcelain beneath her fingers. Sighs into the water around her, face sinking below the temperature line, wavering under the soft candle-light flooding the room around her. 

The light feels strange, as it filters through the water above her, into her field of vision. The dim, low light feels soft, and heavy. Heavy enough to drag her under, if it wanted to. Heavy enough to pull her away, sink her beneath her thoughts. 

It is a strange sensation, and she rises suddenly, lurching upwards in sudden awareness. The sudden cold hits her face, and water droplets fall softly against the skin of her bare back. 

For a brief moment, she considers it. Contemplates it, as she smiles, a secretive smile that spreads slowly across her features. For the smallest of seconds, the idea flickers across her mind. Her thoughts, tangible, reach out to taste it. To welcome it, and caress it. The smell of a distant memory lingers across her nose, the taste touching carefully at her lips. 

To lay there, forever. To simply lay back, and let it take her. To submerge herself, and never surface. To simply fall, fall forever. It seems so perfectly delicious, as the thought rests itself on her fingertips. The pads of her toes, the edges of her limbs. The thought alone seems to call to her, beckoning her to fall for the idea of suicide. Fall in love with suicide; such a tragic love story; beautiful harmony, but for a moment. Then torn away by darkness. An incredibly lonely feeling of completeness as she would fall. 

She shakes herself in the semi darkness, the water rivulets falling to their home as she stands slowly. It would not do. Too romantic. Too perfect an end to such a tragic moment. It had to be messy.


	6. Chapter 6

The smell of spirits is strong around her. She sits, a strange feeling of euphoria rising inside her. The world moves slowly passed her, picking up speed as the two carriage train plunges into the landscape, as a diver would a cool, calm swimming pool. Patrons gather around her, strange looks penetrating her lonely, singular world. She smiles, a feeling of freedom strong around her. She feels light, slow, determined. Her movements are mapped, planned carefully as she considers her limbs. 

So strange, so alien to her. They move slowly, sluggishly, as she moves them precisely. Her neck moves rigidly, her back in tune with the soft muscles. Her feet are placed upon the ugly carpeted floor, shoes rough as their texture inspires her. Her hair lands softly across her face, wild waves slouching, intruding, across her nose. All that moves swiftly are her fingertips, as they fly across her keyboard in a frenzy. Words fill her soul as she translates them to a screen; metaphors surround her mind, as she takes her music from the air around her, feeding them to her imagination. 

“Keep you alive, she said, show me the world that's inside your head.” Music surrounds her, in her ears, her eyes, her heart. She feels the vibrations from the lobes of her ears as her lovers sing in her ears. A three minute affair, one after the other. That is all music is to her. Everything, and nothing; it fills her with a feeling for a mere moment, then is overtaken by something new. A three minute affair. That was all it ever was, that is all it ever will be. Just an affair. 


	7. Chapter 7

The number dips again. Ever so slightly, but it dips. Lowering, steadily climbing towards her feet as she blinks, her toes lining themselves with the edge of the metal. Lower. She sighs, breathing out the breath of air that she has been holding in, unaware. She blinks slowly, fingers unclenching from the iron tight grip, and the welts from her fingernails begin to loosen out. 

It has dipped. It is starting to disappear, and her relief fills her, as the freshness of the air around her fills her lungs. It has gotten lower, lessened, since the night before, and she feels slightly less terrified. 

The room is cold, and she hugs her arms around her body tightly, shivering. Her skin is rubbery; it feels fake, unreal. She grips it mechanically, grabbing the surface angrily. The vehemence fills her, and the heat rises. Clawing at her skin, she wishes it gone. Numbers. Numbers mean nothing; it may be going down, but she can see nothing. The difference, it is minute. It is miniscule. In her eyes, it is nonexistent. 


	8. Chapter 8

The girl stands, shivering, in the garden. The chilled air reaches nothing but her face, as her thick layers wrap her up from the waning summer night. She gazes up, hands rested upon her head; she can hear her mother moving across the grass, gazing up alongside her. 

The stars are out in force. The cloudless night helps them to gleam through from the darkness, and as the girl stares longer, more stars allow themselves to show. The longer she holds her gaze, the more she sees. A laugh bubbles out from the still night, enquiring into how ridiculous they must look. The girl smiles, agreeing silently, closing her eyes against the night's chill. 

She is peaceful, now. The long locks are gone, replaced by manageable, soft tendrils. The numbers have also gone, though whether this is a positive thing or not, she is unsure. Her skin feels closer to her bones, paper thin and taught. It's getting easier, and more difficult at the same time. She breathes, opens her eyes. Smiles into the night that cannot even hope to smile back. 

There's a corner of heaven here, in this slice of suburbia. Heaven, and home. Warmth and understanding and familiar things that she can wrap herself up in and love. 

She feels weighed down now. She no longer feels the urge to fly away, at least not so much. She feels more whole, more understood. Like... like she understands more herself. Wrapping her arms around her, she looks to her mother and smiles. 

There are more important things than fantasies of death, more important things than bodies and limbs and inches. There is love here, a love that she never noticed before now.

As her mother returns indoors, she lingers. 

"I used to watch the stars for hours when I was little. Used to wish upon them. I was daft." Her mother looks back at her, face dark in the dim light of the sky. She smiles, and carries on through the door, and the girl follows. 

She's not whole yet, but she will be. 


End file.
